


we can be heroes, just for one day.

by orphan_account



Category: The Perks of Being a Wallflower (2012), The Perks of Being a Wallflower - All Media Types
Genre: Bullying, Depression, Friendship, Helplessness, High School, Homophobic Language, Loneliness, Love for Writing, M/M, Music, Past Suicide Attempt, Scars, Song Lyrics (alike those in the film), Suicidal Thoughts, check tags for triggers, kind of a vent, past self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 08:51:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13431237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Charlie is so used to being invisible he doesn't know what to do when someone finally sees him.Doesn't see him as the quiet boy with no friends who's bullied and hurt and screamed at with the scars on his wrist or the tornado in his head. He sees him for Charlie.





	we can be heroes, just for one day.

**Author's Note:**

> i love perks of being a wallflower a lot. 
> 
> this is my first non-bandom fic and hopefully i shall write more like this in the future - if i don't then i hope you liked this.
> 
> tw: past self harm, past suicide attempt, suicidal thoughts, homophobic language, bullying.

**“i, i wish you could swim**

**like the dolphins, like dolphins can swim**

**though nothing, nothing will keep us together**

**we can beat them, forever and ever”**

* * *

****It was after Drama class, a few kids had begrudgingly let him be in their group. Charlie pretended not to notice the looks of disgust and blatant hatred behind his back. It confused him - he had done nothing but be kind to them and what does he get in return? He knew they didn't want him there. They told him so many times after all. He got his things stolen, books ruined. The whispers of “no one wants you” were deafening. The glares of contempt when he stands on the outside, looking in on what he wished he could have once upon a time.

All of this has resulted in him once taking a blade to his wrist and cutting all the emotions out. Because he knew no one wanted him, knew that the bullies were right. Charlie knew that no matter what, he would be nothing.

Those months had nearly killed him, behind him were screaming demons (that never left), suicide attempts, pleading notes written and destroyed before anyone saw them. Diaries filled with agony and pain and darkness. Guitar strings snapped with specks of crimson upon the fretboard. Half-finished songs. Broken dreams. Ideas that flickered and faded into nothing but another fail.

* * *

Mr. Anderson was one of the best teachers that Charlie has ever had - he leant him his own crumpled copies of classics and Charlie would write essay after essay after essay. English was his safe place, the different reality within the pages was better in so many ways than the one he was drifting in. Mr Anderson said that maybe Charlie could write the books he read someday. Charlie had laughed. Then stopped when he saw the look on his teacher’s face. “Why are you laughing, Charlie?”

Charlie’s walls around his heart, his soul, his scars came up once more and he avoided eye contact. “No reason sir.” No way could he write this well. This has to be some kind of sick joke.

He cocked his head. “Are you positive there’s nothing?”

“Yeah,” The lie fell from his tongue and Charlie felt a fake, fake smile on his face. It was so easy. Too easy, almost. “I’m fine, Mr Anderson, really. See you tomorrow.”

And Charlie hurried from the classroom, palms sweaty and heart pounding, anxiety gripping him tightly. He let it pull him under because as the bullies shoved him to the floor, ‘accidentally’ kicking him and his books - he knew he deserved it.

* * *

The moment he got home, he rushed into his room, shouting a half-hearted “hi” to his parents. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn't breathe. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t. He couldn’t he couldn’t he couldn’t he couldn’t.

The bad in his head was overwhelming. He itched to return to the thing that made him bleed again - made him feel something other than nothing. But he was scared. Scared of disappointing himself. But he needed the release. And so he took the blade from it’s secret place and inhaled shakily. Charlie decided to wrap it in some tissue and put it in his bin. Now he can breathe a little easier. He didn’t relapse. He didn’t relapse. He didn't. He didn’t.

* * *

He was wearing some black jeans, a bright white shirt hanging limply from his hunched shoulders, the scars on his wrist at their most visible under the lamp in his bedroom. He hated seeing them, but he was used to it after all. Maybe someday they would fade away. But Charlie would know that they were there.

“Dang,” he whispered under his breath, “I’m going to be late.” His eyes widened in realisation and he grabbed his Walkman from his dresser, throwing a cassette in there. Being careful with his headphones, he plugged them in and hurried to school, running as fast as he could with The Smiths blaring in his ears.

* * *

**“Good times for a change**

**see, the luck I've had**

**can make a good man**

**turn bad**  

**So please please please**

**let me, let me, let me**

**let me get what I want**

**this time**

**Haven't had a dream in a long time**

**see, the life I've had**

**can make a good man bad**

**So for once in my life**

**let me get what I want**

**Lord knows it would be the first time**

**Lord knows it would be the first time”**

* * *

****Charlie missed Michael a lot. He never talked about it, really. But he knew it was his fault that Michael had put the bullet in his head. He was offered counselling and the like, but he wasn’t too keen on the idea of baring your soul to a stranger so subsequently declined.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Why was he crying? He was so close to the gates he could already anticipate the badness today. “Stop crying. Stop crying. Stop crying. You’re fine. You’re fine.” His voice was careful, quiet. His throat sore from the fresh tears.

* * *

He was late to Mr Anderson’s class, he hoped that he wouldn’t be angry with him. He didn’t mean to be late, he just couldn’t stop crying so complained of feeling sick while he sat alone in the dirty school bathrooms, remembering the days he used to hurt himself. Should he even go to class? Yes, he should. He’d written a six page essay about the Great Gatsby which was becoming one of his favourite books Mr Anderson had leant him.

Charlie walked down the empty corridor, keeping his eyes down and backpack falling off one shoulder, he went to his sanctuary.

* * *

To Mr Anderson’s surprise and nervousness, Charlie wasn’t in his seat, flicking through a crumpled copy of a book. He wasn’t there. Where was the kid? Was he okay? Had something happened to him? He heard the door creak open, now more anxious he hoped it was Charlie. But, it was Patrick, the senior who had decided to retake English - not because he wasn’t doing well, but because, for some reason he wanted to?

* * *

When Charlie finally entered the classroom, his eyes were rimmed red and he lay the essay on Mr Anderson’s desk with shaking hands and no eye contact.

On his way to sitting down, a boy stuck his foot out and Charlie went flying onto the hard wooden floorboards, rubbing hastily at his eyes, wincing as he stood shakily on his legs. He flushed red and sat down, eyes empty, form hunched over.

Charlie saw an older boy with dark hair stand up, clearly angry at what he had seen. The bully who had tripped Charlie, kicked him in the shin. Charlie flinched, bristling with hurt and annoyance, kicking him in the shin was such an elementary move in his opinion, but worst could’ve happened.

The bully spat the one word he didn’t understand, but from what his sister had told him, it wasn’t nice to say the least. “Faggot.” The word stung his already weakened form, Charlie scratched desperately at the scars, trying to get control back before he spiralled and lost again.

* * *

Charlie didn’t notice Mr Anderson’s fury as he shouted at the bully because by then, Charlie was out of the classroom and collapsed by the lockers, breaths rapid and hands pressed over his ears.

Trying to listen to anything else but the screaming demons that pounded on his skull.

Everything was moving too quickly for him to deal with. But Charlie had never been one to deal - he usually pushed them away to the caverns of his brain until they were blurry. He knew they had always been anything but blurry, the memories and emotions and cravings of death, of anything but this was clearer and worse, so so much worse than ever.

* * *

His brain screamed. His hands shook. He needed someone to help this stop.

All he wanted was for someone to see him. But if someone were to see his silent pleas masked behind the scars on his wrists and unsaid words and hunched form he wouldn’t know what to do.

Because he was so used to being fucking invisible he’d grown accustomed to the fact the maybe he didn’t deserve to be seen.

The words wouldn’t escape. He didn’t know what to say, or even how to say it. He didn’t know what to do other than drown.

Other than disappear.

Because maybe then, maybe then he would be okay.

Help me. Help me. Help me.

* * *

Patrick had left the classroom the moment the quiet boy had.

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

He saw the quiet boy with too much left unsaid and gently lifted his hands from his tearful face.

He looked so empty.

“Are you okay?” Patrick’s voice was gentle - he hoped the boy knew that he wasn’t going to hurt him like the assholes in the class.

He shook his head, wrists raw red, Patrick saw and wrapped his hands round his wrists. “I’ve got you kid, it’s okay, I’m here,” He held him, making sure he was okay with it - relaxing when the younger didn’t flinch away. “My name’s Patrick, what’s yours?”

The young brunette took a while to reply, but when he did, his voice was soft and careful.

“My name’s Charlie.”

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos greatly appreciated!! thanks for reading! <3
> 
>  
> 
> ∞∞∞ "we were infinite" ∞∞∞


End file.
